


Base Fee

by Ezlebe



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015), Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bloodplay, Canon-Typical Violence, Dysfunctional Relationships, Graphic Description of Corpses, M/M, Misunderstandings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-24
Updated: 2017-04-28
Packaged: 2018-10-23 10:54:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10717980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ezlebe/pseuds/Ezlebe
Summary: ‘1017 Starkiller Circle. Target has no known schedule and is likely to be at residence. Client declined discretionary or cleaning fees. You have 48 hours before commission is dropped to half; 72 hours before commission becomes zero.’Ren takes a deep breath, thumb hovering over the stark-white letters of his own damned address, and wonders how this could even be possible.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Based on [the prompt:](http://writing-prompt-s.tumblr.com/post/156722636820/you-are-an-anonymous-professional-assassin-with-a)  
> "You are an anonymous professional assassin with a perfect reputation. You lead an ordinary life outside of your work. You’ve just been hired to kill yourself."
> 
> (Also, regarding the tags, there isn't a lot of any of them, but there is Some to the degree of like a 3 on a 1-10 scale, so I figured I should tag just in case.)

_‘Target: Ben Organa, freelance artist; high profile, high risk, high profit. **Accept** / **Deny**?’_

Ren shuts his eyes for a few seconds, even turns the phone over and lets it sit for a few minutes, just to make sure he’s not hallucinating. It could be a different Ben Organa, one with the same (official)career, same vague social status of ‘might be noticed if turns up dead’. He hesitates only few more moments before giving into curiosity, typing  ** _Accept_** and his passcode, then feels the buzz of the confirmation text in his palm.

_‘Thank you for your service, Kylo. Details to follow within the hour.’_

As usual, the wait is less like an hour and more five very tense minutes. He once had to wait thirty, but service had been intermittent in the desert, so that was likely more him than the Knights.

_‘1017 Starkiller Circle. Target has no known schedule and is likely to be at residence. Client declined discretionary or cleaning fees. You have 48 hours before commission is dropped to half; 72 hours before commission becomes zero.’_

Ren takes a deep breath, thumb hovering over the stark-white letters of his own address, and wonders how this could even be possible. Admittedly, his initial employment had been little more than an application through a suspicious ad; an appearance of a cell phone after he'd given a PO box. He'd been convinced the requirement for an alias and disguise even among the other Knights was for show, but… it seems now it was for legitimate anonymity.

Apparently, it's time to visit the Starbucks on 6th.

The storefront is mostly empty when he walks in, and he pauses in front of the menu before turning on a heel, easily catching sight of the sign for the bathrooms. The door he wants is just between them, so he should have about ten minutes of time before it becomes suspicious, despite the **Employees Only** placard. The inside is well-lit and deceptively mundane: a pair of shelves, copious cleaning supplies, a few gallons of something that might be meant for actual human consumption.

He shuffles forward and kneels down onto the floor in the back, feeling for and peeling up a loose tile up with his fingernails to drag out an old laptop from underneath, heavy like a brick and almost two inches thick. It takes a couple of hard presses and a smack, but a fan finally starts up in an angry whir and the screen loads with a pair of spinning triangles slowly growing closer, then finally a familiar logo over a logon prompt.

The laptop is an open secret between the Knights, alluded to in chain mails, yet never explicitly addressed for threat of a much-needed security gate being precipitously closed. He doesn’t talk to or even really know the others much at all, a leader only in reputation and rank, so he has no idea who set this up, but it’s not difficult to justify abusing a safety blanket when his own name has show up on the target list.

He takes a short breath and types in the given credentials, waiting for the simple terminal to show up with its red blinking cursor and likely threat of total lockdown at even the barest mistaken key. He stares at the prompt another moment, then nods, carefully tapping in the commands that will give him at least a clue to his… enemy? Ren Organa doesn’t exactly _have_ a nemesis right now, aside from a sadistic cousin that keeps trying to get him to exercise with her harem.

The screen remains blank for a few seconds, then slowly loads the requested information in stark capitals and more of that unfriendly red tint.

RECEIVED=02/08/17  
STATUS=ACCEPTED  
CLIENT= ARMANDHAMMER  
TARGET=BEN ORGANA  
DOB=04/01/84  
ADDRESS=1017 STARKILLER CR AGOURA HILLS CA 91301 UNITED STATES  
RISK=HIGH  
DIFFICULTY=HIGH  
BASEFEE=35000  
DISCRETE=NO  
CLEANUP=NO  
TOTAL=35000  
RECEIVED=10000  
CONTRACTOR=KYLO

His eyes catch on the client name, disbelief punching the breath from his chest. He glances down further, sparing an instant to be offended that his life is worth so little – a decorated SEAL, the only child of a tenured General-cum-Senator, the grandson of a Duchess, husband to the premier weapons contractor to all six continents, and yet still only worth _thirty-five fucking thousand?_

In spite of the distraction, his attention still drags back up to the ArmandHammer, the bright, unflinching letters tormenting; unlikely corporate job aside, there is only one person that could be, so not only does his own damned _husband_ put a hit out on him, he uses their old call sign as alias? It’s an insult, almost, though maybe just as unsurprising – Hux is always vindictive when he’s feeling slighted.

Ren could turn it around, kill Hux himself and… No, _no_. He’s threatened it as a joke – they’ve both done that, and often, but _he’s_ never envisioned the sight that it might be with Hux lain motionless beneath his feet, unbreathing and cold. Not like Hux apparently, who’s willing to shell out $10k up front for the –

Ren’s strangles a scream in this throat, thoughts racing and heart beating hard beneath his ribs, and when next he looks down, he's standing in more of a wreck than a supply closet. The tearing apart of cleaning products and toilet paper is too unsatisfying, he needs something more substantial to break and crumble beneath his hands.

He startles when his phone buzzes, stepping back into the door and realizing he needs to get out of here soon before an employee comes looking – who knows if they're part of the Knights. He can't afford to handle the potential of being caught out and compromising the laptop, though it might take his mind off the apparent mess of the rest of his life.

‘Sorry, Hux,’ he'd have to say, ‘You can't have me killed, I'm already being arrested for openly murdering a Starbucks barista. Try again in fifteen to twenty.’

The likelihood of violence shrinks when Ren leaves the closet to find nothing has changed - the baristas are still quietly talking behind the counter, customers still glowering at respective laptops. He slowly walks to the front and thinks about causing his own scene, hand curling into a fist at his side, but can't bring himself to when a forcefully cheery voice asks him to pick his poison.

“Mocha,” he says quietly, shoulders falling, “Soy. Sixteen ounces.”

“Any syrup?”

“Hazelnut and vanilla,” Ren mutters, looking down and reaching for his wallet. He feels another buzz from the adjacent pocket, and pulls out his phone with a sigh, scrolling through as he waits for coffee that he likely won't even drink.

 _12:15 ‘Where are you? You're not at home.’_>>

 _12:23 ‘Answer or I’m going to call’_ >>

Ren feels his mouth curl into a scowl, if loose and trembling. Of course Hux would check-in now, the omniscient prick.

<< _‘How do you know’ 12:24_

 _12:24 ‘Because I'm here, clearly.’_>>

<<‘ _What happened to week ’12:28_

 _12:28 ‘I sped up the process.’_>>

 _12:29 ‘Where are you?’_>>

 _12:29 ‘I'll meet you.’_>>

Ren furrows his brow, glancing up to the name label just to be certain he’s not accidentally talking to someone else.

<< _‘I'm my way home’ 12:31_

 _12:32 ‘You're not texting and driving again are you?’_>>

 _12:32 ‘Are you using the assistant?’_>>

Ren starts his usual rebuff, calling Hux paranoid and reiterating that he's not a moron, then pauses his frustrated typing at only a few characters. What the fuck does Hux care after doing what he's done? Does he only want Ren to die by his – ? Of course he does.

<< _‘No. ’12:34_

It prompts an intermittent rise and fall of ellipses with no message appearing, Hux doubtlessly annoyed as ever and deserving of it.

<< _’Starbucks want anything’ 12:35_

Fuck, why did he have type that – he’s _pissed_. Hux hired an agency to kill him and Ren is… The deadline is two days, meaning he probably has less than that to fake it and disappear. If he doesn’t do the job, someone else gets sent, and he doesn’t feel like killing all the Knights.

The fee will easily enough get him somewhere to stay, something to drive, but – Another pair of texts buzz in his hand, and he drags the notifications down with a frown.

 _12:37 ‘I already have something.’_>>

 _12:37 ‘Do not text and drive.’_>>

 _12:37 ‘I’m serious.’_>>

Ren shoves the phone in his pocket without answering, wishing now that Hux would just stop pretending to care. He takes a few too-quick breaths and tries to convince himself it was inevitable with them – everyone said so, maybe not with words, but with disbelieving looks and dry exclamations of ‘ _you two? wow’_ persistent over the years. He'll just... He'll have to get used to the idea it was all true. 

“Have a nice…” the barista trails off, a panicked look splitting across their face. “Do you - ? Are you okay?”

Ren hardly has to think about what might be drawing that reaction, a telltale burning behind his eyes growing out of his control. “I’m _fine_.”

“Uh,” the barista says, glancing down with a very careful nod and taking a deep breath. “Okay, sir. The napkins are behind you.”

“Thanks,” Ren snaps, resisting the urge to scrub at his face until he’s firmly out the door, furious to feel tracks across his face that dare to fall when he looks down at the pale sidewalk. He just needs to get to his car, then he can scream into the steering wheel without any morons trying to _comfort_ him.

His life has been full of problems that near no one else has had to deal with, and every time he thinks it can’t get any worse, it always finds a fucking way. At least he’ll be able to watch his own funeral, see the fight that finally sparks into flame between his mom and Hux.

If Hux even goes, there’s a chance that not even he would gloat to a mound of dirt.

The suffocating feeling rises up against Ren’s throat just as he buckles into his seat, as if sensing that he’s finally alone and forcing him to choke. He curls against the steering wheel, pressing his forehead into the overheated faux leather as his body seems to seize up with a badly held sob. He doesn’t even know why; what did he do to make Hux hate him so much? Is it because he hasn’t done anything since being discharged, living off of him – is it just cutting off a leach, removing a useless barnacle?

Maybe there’s someone else, a better fit, better image of a partner for the youngest, greatest CEO of First Order. A divorce would be messy, too much work, and time taken away from the company; Ren could decide he wants something – money or power or influence.

His fist makes contact with the dash, lashing out with force he doesn’t realize until a pitchy, vaguely musical whining permeates the car from the speakers.

“Fuck off,” Ren rasps, glaring down at the intermittently blinking lights, the cracked radio buttons perpetuating the sound. He can’t even bring himself to care; he’s not going to be here much longer. He slams down his fist again, feeling the cracks in the plastic widen and break into splinters that fall when he pulls back, then does it again, hearing the whine wind down into a muted buzz. “ _Stop it!_ **STOP IT**.”

He’s not sure how much longer he sits there sniveling into his own hands and baking in the mid-morning sun, but it’s long enough to feel the headache come around, the cloying stickiness drying around his eyes. He tries to convince himself he won’t go home now, resolve to never seeing Hux again, but… He wants to – he _still_ wants to see him. He has forty-eight hours left, which is really more like thirty-six, and he’s a moron who is realizing he’d like to spend them with the bastard that hired him to be killed. The sheer absurdity of the sentiment makes his chest feel concave, ribs crushing in on his lungs.

He reaches forward and twists the key in the ignition, resigned to making one more stupid decision about Hux. The singular good thing about their marriage ending in him _faking_ his _death_ is he’ll never have to hear his mother be all righteously smug about it.

 

* * *

 

A secondary wave of wretchedness hits when Ren pulls into the garage, his stomach clenching with anxiety turned physical. It’s just too normal: he still almost knocks over the recycling with his door, he still hangs his keys up, he still trips over his own forgotten boots. He’s going to have to go on for the next day and pretend he hasn’t realized their life fell apart when he wasn’t watching, that the single person he thought was in his corner bet on someone else, and the little skill he has at keeping calm is unraveling into inability.

He opens the door into the house before he can do anything stupid, if deserved, like turn the damage of his own car onto Hux’s over-priced, over-talkative Audi. It might actually scream as he breaks the screen with his bare hands, or call Hux, or any number of things that’ll foul the hours he has left even further.

“Finally. I assume that Starbucks was in the Mexico?” Hux greets, a strained sort of teasing in his voice, getting louder as he turns the corner from his office. It would’ve been the first sign something was up if Ren had no idea – Hux’s humor can be awkward, but not forced. “I was starting to…”

Ren swallows hard, turning on his heel to find Hux’s attention somewhere near his pockets, “What?”

Hux narrows his eyes as he glances up, a quick press of his lips turning them white. He has no right to look like that, to fake concern after loathing Ren enough to _kill him_ and likely having felt so for months.

Ren shakes his head, feeling the blood rise again in his veins and looking away, pushing further into the house and toward the other side. He shouldn’t have come back; he could have ignored the ache in his chest for years if it came to it. “I’m going out back. I have a deadline.”

“Alright,” Hux says, though from the sound of his footsteps, he could almost not be going back to his office.

Ren glances over again when he hears Hux actually trail him out onto the deck, feeling jumpy when he catches him sending looks to the visible edges of the property. “Stop following me.”

“I’ve come back early,” Hux says, ignoring the demand with such persistence that he’s practically leading. “I’ve got nothing to do.”

Ren pauses at the shop door, turning around to glare and not yet too miserable to be skeptical. Hux has had a near perpetual workload since the moment Ren met him, only worsening in the last year when he _officially_ started micromanaging the entire company.

Hux seems not to notice the look, reaching past and grabbing at the door handle, pushing it open. “Do you still have those TEC-9s in here… Maybe a new sword?”

“Why?”

“Curiosity,” Hux says, clearing his throat and sitting down on the stray stool kept in here for little more than him. He pulls out his phone, brow furrowed for a few short moments of typing.

A buzz tracks across Ren’s hip less than thirty seconds later and he looks down, slowly pulling out his phone and looking down at the screen to find another text from HQ.

_‘Deadline moved; payment doubled. _You have 12 hours before commission is dropped to half; 24 hours before commission becomes zero.’__

Ren tightens his hand around his phone, swearing he can hear it crack from renewed fury. He looks up to Hux and has to swallow an urge grab the nearest ball peen hammer, laying into the shop and find out just how much damage he can do before fear sets in those smug eyes. He forces himself to pocket the phone, turning around and looking desperately for something to do that's not thinking about his life. 

He reaches out and finds a pre-traced square of copper that he’s been meaning to cut into for almost a month, then his mask and gloves, covering his face with a low exhale and a slight twinge in his shoulders as tension and misery do their best to lock his muscles up. It's slow going, getting it set up and determined to find the right headspace to work – at least for the next twelve hours. He’s almost certain it’s going to lead to a lost finger or two, but the extraneous blood might…

He looks down again at the copper and realizes with a swallow that he can feel it giving under his hands. It’s almost like someone else is controlling him when he shifts his grip and twists the copper into an uneven, bended sort of helix, rendering it entirely unusable unless he’d like to go warm it up and flatten it out. He drops it to the floor with a shuddering clang, turns around to reach for another, and wonders how many he can get through before he cramps up. It likely won’t be enough to settle his nerves into what has to be done within _hours_ , a realization especially severe when he’s catches Hux watching from over his phone.

“What was that?” Hux asks, speaking slowly and staring with a quirked brow at the ruined copper on the floor.

“Stop looking at me,” Ren snarls, dropping the second sheet and curling his hands into his thighs, gloved fingers catching loosely at seams.

Hux practically scoffs under his breath, leaning back in his stool and spreading an arm across the counter. "No."

“I’m fucking serious,” Ren says, gesturing with his chin back toward the house. It doesn’t make any sort of sense, the suddenly tightened deadline, the refusal to leave; did Hux come home early hoping to fucking _watch_ as Kylo killed his useless little Benny? “Just work inside. In your _office_.”

“If only I could,” Hux says, sighing and glancing down with a frown at his tablet, clearly attempting to lighten the mood. “But I have an… acquisitions meeting with a new contractor. Presumably soon.”

“What, you - what? An  _acquisitions_ meeting?” Ren snarls, something sick, twisted, and entirely too Hux taking new shape in his head, pairing up with that curiosity about his weapons on-hand, the abruptly shortened contract, and solidifying into likely fact. It’s nearly as awful as Hux paying to kill him, if warping it into some sort of game. “Here. In my _shop_.”

“Wherever you happen to be,” Hux corrects, a bizarre curl at his lips appearing for a few scant seconds, then just as quickly disappearing behind a veneer of indifference. “I was rather worried it had already happened, to be honest. We’ll just have to wait.”

It’s disgusting, outright despicable, showing Hux’s already loosely ethics are even more sparing, but... not particularly unbelievable. Ren takes a deep breath and tries rediscover that fury, any urge to get angry at Hux at all not usually being so difficult, but all he can find is a sense of misguided relief. The entire scheme is still dubious, but Hux has done worse to other people, and Ren lifts his welding mask with a long exhale, just to look with nothing between them.

Hux raises his brows, lower lip unconsciously between his teeth in thought. The sight makes it all the more easy to forgive the nasty personality; he looks so… _unassuming_ like that, all confused and vaguely attentive.

“I’m going to kill you,” Ren says, tearing off the helmet completely and throwing it to the floor.

“Any reason why?” Hux asks, lifting up his hands when Ren shoves in near his face, holding him back with thumbs against the arches of his cheeks, “What is wrong with you?”

“I tore up the car,” Ren mutters, deciding if he just comes out with _that_ now he can cover it up with something else in a few seconds. He feels like he’s going to cry again, or laugh; it’s becoming difficult to tell. “Pretty bad.”

Hux sighs quietly, a familiar long-suffering expression stretching across his face. He drops a hand and pokes at one of Ren’s, “I know.”

A sharp pain crawls up Ren’s arm at the gesture, and he looks down, frowning at his own hand in bewilderment. He shifts back and hurriedly pulls off the glove with his teeth, only to gape, the glove falling to the floor, at the sight of dark, dried blood coating the entirety of his pinky. He stretches his fingers wide, watching one of the cracks split open anew; he hadn't even noticed, too wrapped up in his head.

“It wasn't that bad earlier,” Hux says, a tight frown across his lips as he draws the tips of two soft fingers down the abused heel of Ren’s hand, smearing the blood. “You must have aggravated it in the glove.”

Ren takes a few breaths and drops his hand, taking a step back and reaching into his pocket for his phone. The latest text is still at the front, and he almost thinks about just showing that, but slides the message away and opens the screen to the rest. He doesn’t want to suffer more questions than he needs to, and showing Hux everything from the Knights should cut down that pretty well – it might also give him time to get away before Hux realizes the full implication.

It’s curious how quickly he’s gone from near vomiting with misery that Hux wants him dead, to knowing it’ll be threatened now and barely giving a shit. He tries to think it’s something like perspective, going around in secret as a hitman for months about the same effect as setting a fake hit out on someone, but… He mostly just wants it to feel normal.

“Oh no,” Hux mutters, slowly lifting his hand and taking the phone.

Ren has an urge to take another step back as he watches the play of emotion across Hux’s face, from the slow pinching of his brow to the tightening curl of his lips. It could be a week of icy silence, or a quick, loud fight, or both – none of which are deserved, since Hux tried to _kill_ him, but Hux won’t see it that way.

“You just keep surprising me, don't you?” Hux says, his voice low, even severe, but not particularly angry; he sounds… almost _pleased_. He appears to scroll through the texts a few more times, an odd upturn flashing across his lips. “I knew you were up to something.”

Ren reaches out and grabs the phone when it’s offered, curling his fingers around the edges and trying to hold his tongue, but, “You did?”

“I thought I did,” Hux sighs, a wince appearing around his eyes, followed by an unsubtle raise of his brows. “You’ve been more and more absent. Like today.”

“I go out,” Ren mutters, feeling like he’s trying to deny something else, but not quite sure what it could be, or why it makes him recover the few steps he’s taken away. It teeters to the edge of his mind when he catches Hux looking bizarrely embarrassed, and almost reaches out before balling his hand up at his side. “I do stuff.”

“No, I know,” Hux says, taking a deep breath and releasing it in a stuttering sort of laugh, the kind that means he really is surprised. He glances up and catches Ren in a narrow look, “Obviously you do. I just didn’t think _killer_ was high on the likely list.”

“I'm trained for it,” Ren says, gesturing tetchily at his own ruined face, his own battered body from too many years making sure Hux never takes a bullet. “You know that more than most.”

Hux tips his head to the side with a start, a tense look abruptly overtaking his face before the expression drops cold. A telltale tic beats a few times at his cheek, “Perhaps.”

Ren suffers through the silence a few moments longer, looking down and putting his phone away as slowly as possible, then glancing upward only to grimace when he finds Hux still glaring at him. It seems the shock has finally become fury.

“You should have said something,” Hux growls, leaning in forward and practically snapping at Ren’s nose. “What _the_ **_hell_** is wrong with you?”

“It's illegal,” Ren says, resisting an instinct to lean back on his heels. He can’t give any ground on this, not now, or he might start to think about every other time he wanted to say something. “Really illegal.”

“My wealth is built on blood; you don't get to try that with me.” Hux lifts a hand and slaps at the inside of Ren’s shoulder with the backs of bony knuckles, sharp and mean, “And all the more reason – I could be tried as _accessory,_ you moron. My entire company could be destroyed because you’re a glorified serial killer.”

“I’m not going to get caught,” Ren snaps, angry now that Hux hasn’t waited even five minutes before calling him a fuck up.

“You just were!”

“By you,” Ren argues, trying to harden his voice away from any sort of theoretical cracking that seems to be building up in his throat. “And the only reason is because you hired them to kill _me_.”

“You’re so unkillable you’re practically a cockroach,” Hux scoffs, some of the anger fading into what can only be cruel teasing, voice lilting now with condescension. “You survived a bloody missile testing.”

“I almost died,” Ren says, and it’s not even an exaggeration – did Hux forget the fact he managed to depose his own company’s CEO for that disaster?

“Almost,” Hux repeats, narrowing his eyes with a wild sort of stubbornness, lips blanching for a quick moment that bleeds back into a scoff. “ _Almost_. Everyone else did.”

“I got kicked out of the Navy!”

“You were very honorably discharged,” Hux corrects, his voice hard again for a beat before he leans in and takes hold of Ren’s jaw with cool fingers, giving it a shake like he’s some sort of fucking dog, “Remember all those medals? You're a hero.”

Ren takes a snarling breath, lips curling up over his teeth, “Don’t fucking compliment me.”

Hux rolls his eyes, a soft huff audible as he slides his hand down Ren’s neck, light along his shoulder, “I’ll do as I like, especially when it gets to you.”

Ren swallows thickly, tempted again to shift away and try to be subtle about another problem; the worst thing about arguing with Hux is it always falls out of his favor, one way or the other, because there is something wrong with both of them. “It doesn't.”

“What’s this, then?” Hux says, his other hand materializing solid and tight, if just for an instant, around the unfortunately growing erection in Ren’s jeans. “My imagination?”

A startled groan escapes from low in Ren's throat, trying to convince his body to not to move. Fuck, Hux has been gone since Sunday and Ren is weak – between the emotion and the adrenaline, not to mention the awful Pavlovian way he reacts to fighting Hux? He wishes he could stop being surprised when it's used as some upper hand. “You brainwashed me.”

“I did no such thing,” Hux says, sitting back in his stool with a huff, “Though I do hope I’m the only one it happens with.”

“So far,” Ren says, trying for his own mocking huff. He barely talks to anyone, mostly by choice, and it's not like he's got any reason to go looking for it like a fetish when he can indulge it at home.

Hux barely reacts to the humor, though the wince from earlier reappears as he shifts forward to catch Ren in a quick kiss, biting at his lips, and is gone when he leans back, replaced with a smirk. His hand is back on Ren’s dick in almost the same instant, less teasing and more to an end, “Do you still get hard when you kill, too?”

“What was – ? _”_ Ren chokes, a whine growing at the back of his throat, bucking his hips up into Hux’s hand, curling forward. “ _Fuck_. I never – I _don’t_ get hard.”

“Maybe,” Hux says, tipping his head with a low hum and a smug curl of his lips. A heel appears at the back of Ren’s knee, urging him even closer and almost tripping him into the space between his legs. “But you always wanted to fuck after, didn’t you?”

“So did you,” Ren mutters, eagerly taking direction further into Hux's space, pressing his nose against the soft juncture of his neck. He thinks he might be missing something, this is probably the first time Hux has actually just grabbed his dick to stop a fight, but said hand is just so fucking distracting.

“Do you know what I was quite looking forward to,” Hux says, leaning his head against Ren’s temple and twisting his hand a little sharper, a little too quick for comfort. “Do you?”

“No,” Ren grunts, feeling his skin flash hot.

“Seeing you tear this assassin apart, bring them around to my way of thinking,” Hux murmurs, his voice little more than a hiss against Ren’s ear. “And you’ve taken that from me.”

“Sorry,” Ren gasps, his hands finding Hux’s hips and holding on, outright rutting into the palm around his dick, jeans a cruel barrier between true pleasure.

“I haven’t seen you bursting with violence in so long,” Hux says, his tone almost as if actually in mourning, “I miss it, darling.”

“I – “ Ren swallows, feeling cool fingers curl around and take hold of his bleeding hand, forcing it up from the tight grip on Hux's belt. He pulls back with a start when that becomes an undeniable tongue wrap around his pinky, watching in shock as Hux scrapes up dry blood with his teeth. “Holy fuck, _Arms_.”

“Do you remember Spanakos?” Hux mutters around Ren’s fingers, his mouth hot and wandering down to the next knuckle, eyes like lasers when they catch Ren in a stare. “My big gladiator.”

Ren feels his mind stutter, because he does, and it was… a bloodbath to say the least. “Are you – is this…? Are you really so hot at the idea of me killing people?”

“I’ve always been,” Hux admits, releasing Ren’s fingers with a final, distracting slide of tongue, and a low, mocking laugh as he curls his arm around Ren’s neck. “Didn't you know?”

“I thought that was…" Ren swallows hard, glancing down and watching with bated breath as Hux shifts attention from Ren to the very visible line of his own dick in pressed trousers, undeniably affected by the treatment he'd given Ren's hand - maybe even the _blood_ , holy shit. “Some sort of protection kink.”

“Oh, no,” Hux says, pressing a pair of heavy kisses to Ren’s jaw, a smirk palpable at his lips.  “Not hardly.”

“Should’ve asked,” Ren mutters, taking his, now mostly clean, hand and joining Hux’s own for a few short pulls. It’s not long before a hitch of breath preludes a short pause, Hux’s hand turning in Ren’s palm and curling inward for an instant before shoving him away.

They don’t fuck in the shop; Ren was the one who reluctantly struck down that line. It would be too amazing, surrounded by the smell of burning metal and Hux, but every time he’d try to work he’d just think about it, then he might jack off in here, and – at the risk of sounding like Hux – that’s just _another_ crossed line.

“Alright,” Hux murmurs, shoving in now with both arms curling over Ren’s shoulders and ankles at his back, a fluid upward shift of body with unspoken orders. 

Hux is hardly the heaviest person Ren has ever lifted, or even the lightest, but he’s certainly the most enthusiastic. A couple girls had been panicky, the one guy before Hux had taken it as some emasculating technique, but Hux has always, straight from the beginning, tucked in and pressed forward with a satisfying eagerness. Right now, his dick is hard against Ren’s stomach, both hands twisting at his hair as he bites hard into Ren’s neck like some sort of dull-toothed vampire, and they’re not halfway to the house.

Ren can admit that he might have compromised his, apparently ironclad, cover just for this reaction – he’s sure whoever is in charge would’ve completely understood.

“You’re dawdling,” Hux says, voice just next to Ren’s ear, joined soon by a scrape of teeth along the sensitive lobe.

“We don’t have neighbors,” Ren argues, shifting his hands and palming at Hux’s ass, tempted to drag his pants down right here in the midday sun. He’d definitely burn, undoubtedly earning a not-so-fun punishment in the coming days as deserved retribution for the slight against those pretty thighs. Ren chooses a compromise, slumping down onto the scarcely used patio furniture, just hidden under shade with cushions still starched and stiff, but soft enough when he finds himself shoved backward by slender, splayed hands.

“You were getting bored,” Ren says, “With the artist thing.”

“No,” Hux says, dismissive and distracting as he pulls at Ren’s zippers. He tucks fingers just inside underwear, the spare touch of skin warm and soft, dragging Ren’s already leaking cock out and tucking the waistband. “But the assassin is who I married, sometimes I miss him.”

“I only started six months ago,” Ren says, shifting down against the cushions and forcing both their legs wider. He’s mindful of the narrow look and pinched frown flashing across Hux’s face, and reluctantly reaches for the straining buttons of Hux’s fly; he really hates the stupid posh look – he doesn't even know how many tiny buttons he's broken with clumsy fingers.

The result makes the caution worth it when Hux leans in eagerly toward him, rutting down into Ren’s dick as his free hand shoves up at Ren’s shirt, which gets eagerly thrown across the pathstones. He tries to return the favor, only for Hux to unexpectedly shift under his hands, making Ren tug too hard in shock and tragically popping a pair of shirt buttons. He grimaces when he pulls back to find one of the cuts in his hand has opened, staining the white shirt with a streak of bright red. 

“So clumsy,” Hux murmurs, tutting under his breath, though making no move to even jokingly punish; his shirt gaping half-open as he leans down with sharp teeth to tug at one of Ren’s nipples, biting upward along chest to neck.

Ren groans low in his throat, arching upward and shoving his fingers through Hux’s hair, mussing it into a waxy, jagged mess, now slightly tinged a little more red. Hux probably didn’t do more work than sitting on an airplane, yet still he covers his hair in that awful crap like he’s anticipating an impromptu corporate meeting. 

Hux’s stroking gets heavier, precluding a move that shifts them closer together as he wordlessly shoves Ren’s hand out of the way, taking over with both of them in his own. It becomes little more than teasing in only moments, intermittent squeezes and a low huff from an upturned mouth betraying that Hux knows exactly what he’s doing. 

“Come on,” Ren mutters, jerking his hips up into too-loose fingers, trying to rut more firmly against Hux's pretty cock. He glances down, and the mere sight of them pressed together, swollen and leaking, is almost unbearable, “ _Please_.”

“Look,” Hux says, using his free hand to grasp at Ren’s chin and force his attention up, dragging a slightly calloused thumb against his lip. “Look at that – what a lovely sight to die to.”

A telltale heat blooms across the back of Ren’s neck, and he feels embarrassment spool up at the back of his throat. He's such a weak bastard in the face of Hux's sparing, fucked up compliments; in reality, any glimpse under the welding mask would only confirm suspicions of his monstrosity.

He looks back down and presses his forehead into the thin crux of Hux’s shoulder and neck, watching that clever hand work over both of them as his own breath grows tight in his chest. He hesitantly shifts down until they’re nearly flat on the cushions, tucking one of his hands in the back of Hux’s loosened trousers and squeezing his ass, teasing with a pair of fingers over his hole, and using the other as leverage to buck up into the now quick pulls of Hux’s hand.

Ren can feel Hux come before he sees it, muscles tensing under his hands, coiling up just before he spills over Ren’s dick, stark and hot over the swollen, purple head. The visual and the singular, almost duty-like attention Hux shifts into only an instant later means Ren only needs a few more twisting tugs and a slippery thumb tracing hard along the head to feel his own release take over, shoulders curling in when Hux deliberately jacks him a little too far out the other side, squeezing at his balls with a mean smirk tucked into Ren’s neck.

It makes him recall their first time, out in some nameless desert, stuck in some nameless camp, caught in some attempt at straight-guy mutual masturbation turned sideways when they couldn’t keep their hands off each other. Hux was an asshole back then, too.

Hux hums low into Ren’s neck, then turns slightly and catches his lips, sharing a lazy, open-mouthed kiss before pushing up on his knees, tapping hard at Ren’s bare chest with a pair of knuckles. “You’re still in very big trouble.”

Ren leans up on his elbows, feeling a bit like he’s chasing, “Am I?”

“You _know_ I don’t like being lied to,” Hux says, his scathing tone at odds with the slow, methodical lick up his hand, always disgusting like he genuinely enjoys the taste. “Sneaking around behind my trips.”

“You paid to have me killed,” Ren grumbles, then remembers the notice of double payment still sitting on his phone. He grabs Hux’s hips as he sits up straight, trying to keep him roughly in place on his lap, “Paid a lot.”

“No,” Hux says, sinking his gross hands into Ren’s hair. 

Ren leans into it despite himself, lowering his voice, “ _Yes_.”

“You would have been perfectly fine,” Hux says dismissively, the pad of his thumb sliding backward against Ren’s temple, down his nape, then pulling him into a thin shoulder; it’s a tender gesture, if downright mocking in intent.

Ren tries to scoff back under his breath, to return the condescension in full, but the lingering uncertainty keeps his chest hollow, muscle tightening again with tension only a few minutes after he’d been so thoroughly loosened up. Hux says that carelessly, but it’s never easy to see what is truly reeling around in his mind; Ren knows Kylo’s reputation, as relatively fledgling as it is, and it’s not for being easily deterred from a target.

“How was it going to go, then?” Hux asks, his hand pausing the sporadic petting of Ren’s head, though curiously not pushing him away.

“I don't know,” Ren mutters, closing his eyes against Hux’s torn shirt. The sun is slowly closing in on the patio, making it warm. “I couldn't… I didn't know. What to do.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t threaten me straight out from discovery,” Hux says, his voice almost scolding, like he’d already found a way to critique this absurd situation.

Ren opens his mouth, then slowly closes it, bitter at the epiphany that argument hadn’t even entered as an option. Fights happen so often between them, with varying levels of severity and subject, but how would this one even have gone? It wasn’t as if Hux keyed his car – it was _paid_ _murder_. He had barely been able to think about why, let alone work up the nerve to actually demand answers.

Hux’s hand curls around Ren’s nape as the silence goes on, tightening, and his voice is lower, more strained now when he speaks, “You wouldn’t actually go through with it.”

“I _was_ , I just…” Ren pauses again, trying to remember what he had settled on in the car, his mind muddled then with fury and misery. He just wants to forget all of it right now, go back to basking in the aftermath of orgasm. “I... I think I settled on staging something small, donating some blood. You would find it when you got back and think it was done.”

The air is tense, falling quiet for a long few seconds until Hux takes a deep breath, his chest expanding against Ren’s before rapidly shrinking, “You were going to leave. Like Gone Girl.”

“Sort of,” Ren agrees, begrudging to the sparse parallels between the circumstances – if either of them is like that woman, it’s Hux. “But I wouldn’t come back. Obviously.”

He leans back to find Hux concentrating at some space over his shoulder, and lifts a hand to poke at him only instead to find his lap abruptly vacated. His dick is mostly back in his pants, but his fly is still open and exposed, the midday breeze a slight shock as it proceeds to dry the come on his abs into more stains.

“I’m…” Hux trails off, a twist at his mouth. He lingers another moment, an odd look in his eyes when he glances over to Ren, but only shakes his head before disappearing into the house.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hux does something to cause a thump on the other side of the door, likely hitting it with the heel of his hand, “Do you care so little about – ”
> 
> The pause is abrupt, but enduring, so much so that Ren is tempted to reach out and try the handle again – he hadn't heard it get locked. He could break the handle even if it was, but that might qualify as overreacting, and he’s not supposed to overreact.
> 
> “I admit,” Hux begins again, voice now unusually flat and apathetic even through the door, each word clipped, “I thought you were having an affair.”

Ren blinks at the empty door, leaning back with a frown settling across his lips. His hip buzzes a few seconds later, his phone carelessly jammed in between the cushions just next to him, and he reaches over slowly to tip the screen up.

_‘Contract terminated. Payment of $16000USD will be deposited in KYLO01 within three business days.’_

Ren only wonders a few seconds if he should be put it back into their shared account before deciding to keep it. The money can be reparations for the stress or whatever, and the repairs he’ll need for the car – he has no idea how much a console like that costs, but its probably not a normal repair. He can already see the suspicious looks at the dealership… maybe he’ll take it to someone else. Rey probably knows someone, or Han, not that he’s asking _Han_ ; he’s not that desperate.

He heaves a sigh and shoves off the patio couch, grimacing down at the mess on his stomach. He thinks about using one of the guest showers, but by the time that thought occurs he’s already digging into his drawers for new underwear and sweatpants. He’s dealt with worse in the desert, or the jungle, or whatever, not that he needs to now, but –

“Calm down!”

Ren freezes, one hand in the drawer, fingers curled around a clean pair of briefs. He slowly pulls them out, using his other hand to shove the gross ones off, and drifts near the bathroom with an ear open. He nearly falls into the door from distraction, cursing his clumsiness and grimacing at the waistband clutched in his hand after having ripped from the fabric.

“Calm down,” Hux says again, just as sudden, but calmer, more clipped, “Nothing has happened. It’s fine.”

“ _Something_ happened,” Ren murmurs, turning around and wondering if he should get another pair, then choosing to let fate and Hux decide later, grabbing his sweats from this morning off the floor.

He pauses when he finds both of Hux’s phones sitting next to the TV, then glances quickly between the bathroom and the phones with bewilderment. He leans in toward the door again, curiosity winding now with apprehension. The water is still running, but it doesn’t quite sound like it’s hitting anything besides the floor, and he shifts closer when he hears a clatter along the granite counter.

Hux is still talking, but it’s quiet, too muffled to make out between the water and the door.

Ren reaches out and touches the handle, testing lightly to check if it’s locked. It usually isn’t – not here, not at home – and finds it to give tellingly against the pressure, slowly turning downward with a quiet click.

“Get out!” Hux snaps, reaching out so quickly that the door nearly adds another few scars to Ren’s collection.

Ren takes a slow breath and nods at the closed door, trying to reconcile the sight on the other side of the door with the past few minutes. Did someone text Hux something bad? No, he'd be yelling at _them_ if that were the case.

“Hux?”

“Fuck off,” Hux responds, just a few seconds too late for comfort and sounding very near _hysterical._ “You know I – I can't fucking _believe_ you.”

Ren feels something in his blood flash hot and cold, the shock alone makes a barely repressed horror of hurting Hux rise up and turn over to show a lily-white belly. It's not the first time he's heard that particular mixture of misery and panic over something he did, but the last time had involved far more imminent death.

Hux does something to cause a thump on the other side of the door, likely hitting it with the heel of his hand, “Do you care so little about – ”

The pause is abrupt, but enduring, so much so that Ren is tempted to reach out and try the handle again – he hadn't heard it get locked. He could break the handle even if it was, but that might qualify as _overreacting_ , and he’s not supposed to _overreact_.

“I admit,” Hux begins again, voice now unusually flat and apathetic even through the door, each word clipped, “I thought you were having an affair.”

“What?!” Ren leans in and flattens his hands against the door, listening for any sort of response. The worst part is, Hux’s tone isn't even accusatory, doesn't call him out for cheating, or sleeping around, no, _‘an affair’_ like he's already accepted it and drafted the divorce papers. “No!”

Hux is quiet for a few moments, shower falling silent in the interim, descending both rooms into an oppressive hush. “Today was not the first time I've come home find you gone.”

Ren grimaces hard so far as to grind teeth, looking down to the slip of light under the door. “Shit.”

“You were once gone for the entire _two days_ I got back early,” Hux says, his deceptive calm splintering with a sudden rush of fury. “And you came back so _fucking_ relaxed, didn’t you? But hell if you said a word about it.”

Ren groans and turns around, sliding down against the door until he’s on the soft carpet of the floor. He really should have noticed that, it was _obvious_ , but it also wasn't – he always made sure to come back midday, because Hux _usually_ came back from work trips at night. He never had a reason to think Hux had ended his early, but… he could be subtle. Irritatingly.

“You should have – ”

“I should have done _nothing_ ,” Hux snaps, voice now in that tone, the one where he’s not remotely bluffing about thinking he’s right. It's one of the worst ones, self-righteously arrogant – if a little arousing in the right mood, which is pretty far from here. “I am not some wilting telly housewife with a secret agent husband – this is fucking Mr and Mr Smith and **_you_** should have said something!”

Ren sighs heavily, rolling his eyes even knowing Hux can’t see it; he probably knows.

“But here you were just going to _leave me_ ,” Hux says, having lost none of his furor and unlikely to even in the next few moments; neither of them can be distracted by sex on opposing sides of a door. “It didn’t even occur to you to ask – what if it hadn't been me? You would have destroyed everything for nothing!”

“But it _was_ you!” Ren slaps the ground at his side with little thought, the force of it aggravating his earlier bruises and causing a dull pain to travel up into his shoulder right through his bones. “I thought you wanted me dead! What was I supposed to do?”

“Oh yes, sure, but if you _hadn't_ known, and some assassin shows up, going after you with a broadsword or whatever it is your melodramatic arse uses,” Hux says, his voice rising with outright hostility, his accent losing that posh edge without focus, “What would you have really, truly believed was happening?”

Ren tips his head up against the door and takes a deep breath, trying to imagine it and recognizing all too quickly that Hux is asking this as one of his condescending ‘bigger picture’ questions – _Ben Organa_ may not have any enemies, but Armitage Hux certainly has more than a fair share. He sighs, heavily, “I would’ve thought they were here for you…”

“Exactly,” Hux says, his vehemence almost a physical dagger through the oak door. “You stupid bloody moron; you brainless _twat_. It’s a blessing you’ll never pass your _idiot_ genes to innocent children.”

“Alright, alright,” Ren mutters, running a hand through his hair and letting his head knock back with a pointed thunk into the door. “Shut the fuck up.”

The quiet lingers a few long minutes before a short bark of a laugh travels through the door, Hux apparently having found some sort of amusement. “I did slightly hope they'd beat the shit out of you just from the surprise of it.”

Ren rolls his eyes, less relieved than he thought he’d be hearing proof; granted, if he had actually been sleeping around he probably would deserve it. He swallows thickly, pulling at a loose thread on his sleep pants. “Who would I even be fucking?”

“I could hardly know,” Hux mutters, his voice lowering until near intelligible through the door. “I don't know what you do anymore. Or _with_.”

Ren opens his mouth to scoff, only to pause on inhale, an epiphany winding its way through his mind with a guilty jolt. He’s been so paranoid about keeping it all discrete, making himself harmless lest the shadowy organization he'd signed on with somehow follow him home, he’s forgotten that the secrecy might come off wrong to someone he was once stuck with almost constantly going on five years. If Hux suddenly shut up about everything to do with First Order, or his developments, or even idiots on planes, then Ren might be a little suspect, too.

He clears his throat, furrowing his brow across the room at their bed, and wonders where to start. It would probably be overkill to go into all the gruesome contract details – well, all at once –  but he’s also had something of an _actual_ life that’s been forgotten. “Rey has been trying to get me to go to spinning class with her and the Damerons’. It’s… I’m not sure what it is, but it looks like aggressively riding a – ”

A quiet shuffle mercifully interrupts the clumsy diatribe, and Ren startles forward slightly when the door opens behind his back. He looks up to find Hux staring down at him, silhouetted by the sun through the bathroom skylight; it’s even more obvious now that he’s dressed down but definitely still dry.

“ – A bike,” Ren finishes, trying to swallow away the sudden crack in his voice. Christ, it might be the recent orgasm talking, but Hux is way too pretty – too pretty to have to think Ren might cheat on him.

Although, _not_ too pretty to get a pass on freaking out that Ren took a death threat to heart. He should’ve left a fucking note

“I know what spinning is,” Hux says, an odd look across his face, something between a grimace and a smirk, his eyes curling at the edges. “I didn’t quiet mean _that_.”

“But that’s all that I’ve been doing,” Ren says, blinking upward with a frown spreading across his lips. “And I haven’t actually been doing it. I should. She had a point about my workout lacking good cardio.”

“Why are you back in pajamas?” Hux crouches down and reaches out to pluck at the fabric across Ren’s crossed leg. “It’s not even half three.”

Ren looks down with a shrug, “So?”

“I need to know about your organization: how you get contracts, gather intelligence, receive payment – that sort of thing,” Hux says, his tone entering that almost clinical, professional sort of friendliness. His eyes are even caught on Ren’s, hardening slightly and daring him to change the subject.  

Ren can’t remember the last time he was on the end of _that_ tone, and almost doesn’t answer even as he pointedly taps the phone in his pocket. “I get info all from the texts and paid through direct deposit.”

Hux raises an eyebrow, “You have a secret account?”

Ren rolls his eyes, grimacing and knowing exactly the reaction he’s going to get before he says it. “The one my mom set me up with for my trust.”

Hux seems to freeze in place, then exhales in evident disbelief. “Oh, good lord.”

“It’s off shore,” Ren mutters, feeling a tic spasm across his jaw with irritation. He knows it probably would’ve been _tidier_ to get some shell thing in the Caribbean or something, but his Swiss one seemed fine when he hadn’t thought the job was real.

“And has your name all over it,” Hux says, standing back up and crossing his arms, his usual disdainful expression that much more patronizing when looking up at it from the floor. “You bought my Audi with killer money, didn’t you?”

Ren shrugs, not bothering to disagree – it was bought early enough that at least half of it would’ve been from his trust, but by now it would’ve been more than enough. He feels a belated shame at the whole idea, realizing that suddenly buying Hux over-priced presents with no explanation probably wasn’t a good sign toward the adultery thing, especially with Hux’s upbringing.

Hux rolls his eyes, silent for a moment longer before holding out a hand. Ren grabs it and affects some difficulty as he hauls himself up, smirking a little when Hux shifts a half step forward from little more than unbalanced weight. Ren catches him mid-step, sliding his hands up and cradling Hux’s jaw, softly tracing along the arches of his cheek.

“Even if I had the opportunity, I could never start something with anyone else,” Ren says, leaning in and pressing a brief kiss to pursed lips. “Not even if you got off on it.”

“I wouldn’t,” Hux mutters, visibly tampering down on some reflex to tell Ren to back off. He’s never been good at receiving affection in the daylight; it shows the way his skin flushes, the pretty flutter of his lashes.

“I know,” Ren says, dropping his hands down to Hux’s waist, then fitting his hands perfectly across the crests of those thin hips, “You’d probably slip anthrax in their beer.”

Hux gives a tip of his head, quirking his brow with a short, contemplative hum. “I’m not sure I have any.”

“Of anthrax specifically,” Ren clarifies, trying to keep his voice flat and ignore the slim hands sliding up his chest – it’s a weird conversation to be groped to, even if he technically started it.

“As said, I’m not sure,” Hux says, his expression somehow both vexed and wicked. “Are you looking for a new weapon, _Kylo_?”

Ren feels some awful part of him perk up at the sound of Hux’s voice fitting around those syllables, swallowing back against a sudden dryness at the back of his throat. It must have just been from the texts, he doesn’t… He doesn’t know how else Hux could have heard it, doesn’t care what Hux might have thought of Kylo before finding him in his home.

Hux abruptly shoves forward, making Ren stumble backward until they're both standing in the sunlit bathroom. His fingers slide across Ren’s sweats around the band, snapping it under his thumb, “Now clean up. We’re visiting your employer, and I'd rather not do it smelling like come.”

* * *

“This is a Starbucks,” Hux says, raising a single eyebrow practically to his scalp. He had let Ren drive and is very clearly regretting it, glancing back to the storefront with obvious doubt.

“Observant,” Ren mutters, absorbing the half-hearted swat it earns with an exaggerated whimper.

Hux leans back into his seat with a narrow, teasing glare. “Don’t test me.”

“In there is the only real… link I know of,” Ren explains, trying to sound more confident than the circumstances probably call for – he’s definitely going to get yelled at when Hux realizes the entire operation of the Knights is just as ambiguous. “It’s just a laptop that’s connected somehow to their network – you can look stuff up on it.”

“Connected somehow…” Hux frowns for a moment at the Starbucks, then turns back with a mocking scoff right to Ren’s face. “A _VPN_? I know I’ve gone over these thing with you.”

“Shut up,” Ren says, reaching over Hux’s lap and tugging at the door handle, then shoving it open, “You’ll have to go in yourself.”

“And why?” Hux asks, a suspicious glint flashing across his eye.

“I kind of… left an impression,” Ren says, exhaling a low breath and glancing down a moment at the, as yet, untouched center console of the Audi. “Like only a few hours ago.”

Hux scoffs, “You made a scene.”

“I left an impression,” Ren snarls, then forces his mouth into a thin line, because hell if he’s going to tell Hux that he had a panic attack and cried in the middle of the street. He probably already knows from the way he frowned when he saw Ren’s car, or what he did to his hand, so it doesn’t need to be. _Said. Aloud._

Hux rolls his eyes, gazing out through the open door, “Where _is_ this laptop, then - behind the counter?”

“It’s in the supply closet under a loose tile,” Ren says, glancing in the same direction a short moment, then looking back to Hux and catching his incredulously raised eyebrow. “It’s actually obvious – the tile’s got a big X on it. You can sign-in with KNIGHT in all caps and Bosworth1485.”

“Good lord,” Hux says, his voice thin with disbelief, “And you’ve been _killing_ for these people?”

“It pays really good,” Ren mutters, shifting forward with a start when Hux starts to move, reaching out and grabbing his arm, “And don’t get caught – the baristas might be suspicious now.”

“Alright, darling, I’ll watch for hostile baristas,” Hux says, a lilt to his tone as he leans in and mockingly pecks Ren just under the ear. He exits the car without closing the door, only dragging his sunglasses over his eyes, “I’ll be right back.”

“You’re a dick,” Ren calls after him, reaching for the door and hesitating, fingertips just barely across the handle, “Please get me a mocha, you ruined the last one.”

“Fine,” Hux responds, waving backward with a dismissive hand.

Ren leans back into his seat with a long sigh, watching Hux enter through the glass doors with a sense of foreboding. At least he changed, better to look like a stuck-up hipster than a patronizing executive who has no business being at a Starbucks downtown just before closing. Not to mention seeing Hux dressed down is probably as hot as whatever the opposite is for most people; his wrists being bare in public is practically criminal.

Hux emerges from the Starbucks with two drinks in hand a little over ten minutes later, which is about twenty minutes south of how long it _should_ take even from their own computer. It’s not a good sign from either end of the likely spectrum, between how close Ren has been to getting caught this _entire_ time, to how pissed Hux is going to be from failure when he gets in the car.

Granted, he doesn’t _look_ angry, and he bought the drink Ren asked for, which… he isn’t actually sure where the first one is, anymore; he lost track of it between the storefront and the house. It’s probably in his car, souring into whatever soy becomes when it rots.

Ren rolls his eyes when Hux actually taps at the glass and makes him open the door, feeling only a little vindictive disappointment when he dodges the sharp-edged corner. It’s probably for the best, as Hux would have likely, and very deliberately, dropped his coffee to the ground.

Or, if they’d been in the other car, onto Ren’s lap.

“The barista told me a _very_ interesting story,” Hux announces, lowering into his seat and putting his own glorified juice in a cup holder, only to keep his fingers wrapped tight around the other. “About a customer who ordered this very sugary coffee.”

“I don’t want to hear it,” Ren says, flipping the key and forcing the engine to roar to life. It’s hardly loud enough to drown out Hux, but it lets him pretend for a few moments that he hasn’t been the novelty of a coffee shop for the past few hours.

Hux does actually fall silent for a few seconds, dropping Ren’s drink into the cup holder and reaching for his seat belt. The icy look he spares Ren when he guns it out of the space could cause freezer burn, but it hardly compares to the derisive little laugh he gives under his breath. “Don’t be so embarrassed.”

Ren isn’t sure he’d actually call it something so mundane as embarrassment, maybe mortification, even humiliation. He can only imagine what they’d said to Hux – how weird he was, or what kind of nutcase he was to tear up their back back room, maybe even described his scar in lurid detail.

“Did you hack them?” He clears his throat awkwardly when he realizes how stupid that sounds, of how obvious it is he's deflecting. “Or whatever.”

“Only the location,” Hux says, practically tutting as he takes his drink in hand. “Stanton, oddly enough. It should be a short drive.”

Ren feels something in him shrivel, a frown cutting across his mouth. He hadn’t actually thought they’d make a trip of it now, though the reason behind that was little more than his own hopeful expectation. He’d expected the Knights to be based out of New York or somewhere, not goddamn… Disneyland’s backyard.

Hux rolls his eyes, leaning back in his seat and wrapping his lips tight around a straw for a quick, distracting moment. His other hand is already on the GPS. “Do you have something against Stanton now?”

“The traffic is shit,” Ren says, already seeing backed-up highways stretching for miles.

“Do you need to switch?” Hux asks dryly, reaching over and condescendingly patting at Ren’s shoulder. “You’ve gotten so delicate.”

“Not getting all bitchy about that anymore?” Ren asks, glancing sideways as he brakes at a stop light. To say Hux had developed new neurosis after the injury would be something of an understatement.

“You’ve recovered enough to go around decapitating people,” Hux answers after a too-long pause, giving a convincing huff through his nose even as he twists the straw all too quickly in his drink. His voice lowers, almost to a mutter, “I should have known it was you when I read that.”

Ren ignores the reflex to snarl back an insult in turn, reluctant to be drawn into another fight. “Why?”

Silence descends quick in the small space of the coupe, and Ren looks over to find Hux just looking at him, a single eyebrow raised and mouth at a slant. It's not an unfamiliar look, some mix of accusation and skepticism.

Ren clears his throat as he looks back to the road, ignoring the reluctant flush of heat at the back of his neck. The method had been more opportunistic than Hux might ever believe, the sword actually from the _victim’s_ collection. It would be stupid to use one of his own; they would just track it right back to him.

* * *

The house in Stanton is a faded, unassuming blue at the middle of a cul-de-sac; the lawn a dried husk of grass with little attempt to cover with rock. Ren is reluctant to park on the curb even as he releases it into neutral, looking around and knowing that Hux’s pristine white Audi is hardly the most welcome car on this particular street. They’ll be lucky to come back out and not find a giant dick sprayed across the driver side.

“Are you going make me break into this house,” Ren says, leaning across the wheel with a low sigh, gesturing toward the darkened porch, “Really?”

“I was thinking to knock first,” Hux says dryly, unbuckling and practically bounding out of the car. He closes the door this time, if gesturing for Ren to follow through the window, though he doesn’t so much as look backward as he climbs up crumbling steps.

Ren follows at a slower pace, taking in the wilted plants through the window and overfull mailbox, then glances down to find an anthill shoved up against the doorjamb. He crouches down, tugging at Hux’s pant leg to give him a reason to give up knocking.

Hux is quiet for a long moment, then steps back so Ren sits unobstructed from the door. “I assume you’ve been using that kit I gave you?”

The lock is jammed, with rust or age or both, but Ren tries until frustration nearly has the picks bending into his palms. He exhales a slow sigh and tucks everything back into his wallet, looking to Hux with a grimace and an upward glance. He has a sudden dread of disappointment in those eyes, but Hux only tips his head to the side in wordless suggestion, taking another step back and reaching up to rub at his brow as he looks toward the neighboring house. 

Ren takes a few steps back himself, rolling his shoulder before getting ready to rush; he has more experience forcing himself through doors than he probably should, and each one is a little different – this one, bizarrely weak. He had expected some sort of alarm to go off the moment he pressed forward, a secondary lock as even most houses have to hold him back, but the jamb practically tears away from the latch with little real struggle. He peers downward to find the wood brittle and bleached, run through with wriggly trails, and realizes the sugar ants were the least of this house’s problem.

He startles when Hux steps in past him, feeling the soft drag of fingertips down his arm to the hand still clasped around the door. He drops the knob and the fingers disappear just as quickly, and he watches Hux vanish through an archway to a likely living room. 

He opens his mouth with the intense urge to say _something_ , but what escapes him, and his mouth closes with a discomforting clack of teeth as he clumsily shuts the broken door behind him. It almost feels like something is still wrong, and something doubtlessly is; usually, it’s something small and little more than tetchy, but this feels like it could bloom into awful.

A startled laugh echoes through the walls, more shock than humor. “I don't think anyone's been here in quite some time.”

Ren winds through the dark halls to finds him in a darkened kitchen, refrigerator open and absolutely rank. He peers in from just behind and stares at what might have been the remains of a casserole, now more a new species of gross. The other shelves sport similarly disgusting examples of what might once have been food, a few culminating with crawling black streaks up plastic walls, as if trying to reach outside.

“It's like a horror movie,” Ren says, keeping his voice low. “Or an episode of Hoarders.”

Hux shoves him backward with a low scoff, slipping out of his arms and lingering at the archway, “I'm going upstairs. Look for a basement.”

“You're fucking nuts if you think I'm going down into a basement,” Ren says, closing the fridge with a slam, grimacing when he hears glass clank together and jostle around all that rancid mold. He dreads what might be in the dishwasher. “Not even if I had night vision.”

“Cabling, then, and I’ll go,” Hux says, already turning back toward the front of the house, to the stairs that were at the door, “I’m getting a jumper for you with the cowardly lion sewn to the front.”

“Whatever, tin man,” Ren mutters, reaching for his own phone to compensate for the fading light. He pauses as he passes another doorway, staring narrowly at a light switch; the fridge had been disgusting, but definitely on, so…

Shit, it's even worse with everything visible. A thin layer of pale dust is spread evenly on every surface, and he is pretty sure the light fixture is full of dead flies and ants. A huge television is hooked to the wall opposite an L shaped sofa, but the box underneath is blank, not responding even when Ren taps a few times on the power.

It all becomes negligible at the sound of a familiar, if muted, yelp, and he turns on a heel with little more than instinct to quickly grab at the stair rail to haul himself up. He’s just at the top step when he catches Hux leaving one of the rooms, unharmed aside from the perturbed frown across his lips.

“Are you okay?”

Hux catches him in a wide look, a few moments passing before he actually rolls his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. “A: You know how I hate when you ask me that, and _B_ :…” He takes a long breath, turning and pointing with a crooked finger to the open door behind him. “That depends.”

“Depends,” Ren repeats, slowly taking the last step onto the second floor. He walks toward Hux and peeks into the room, blinking at what looks like a computer chair and about six uniform screens of various subjects; four are clearly cameras, another a browser with maps open, and… the last seems to be running a command dialog? He’s not sure what could’ve startled Hux, since it actually looks a little like his office at home.

He glances sidelong, raising a brow, only to be shooed at to go in further. The visible discomfort makes him want to ask for better explanation, but he still steps forward into the dark room, glancing around at the shelves and shelves of books, the forgotten trash falling from the desks, and blinks at the sight of a blackened crumble of something on a plate near the computer.

He leans in further, wondering if – something catches at the corner of his eye, and he turns, curious, to find a shriveled, eyeless face staring back. He shouts in little more than a jumble of half-formed thought, stumbling backward on his heels to get out the door and covering his mouth with a closed fist.

It’s a complete goddamned mystery why, but a literal mummy sits half visible in the office chair, a single hand flopped over to the side over the armrest. They look like they’d just suddenly stopped breathing, with no signs of blood stains or struggle, and Ren is at a loss. He’s never actually seen a body like this before, so withered and decomposed, let alone sitting in front of a computer.

A few steps echo on creaky wood and Hux is next to him again, practically tutting and patting him across the back.

“Fuck, I-I have no…” Ren takes a deep breath, shaking his head and reaching out to Hux, hoping desperately that there is some insane explanation for all of this – like when they were in France and accidentally fell into a sewer that turned out to be part of the catacombs. He’d known all about that, the macabre nerd, so he must have some explanation.

“It is a first,” Hux agrees, his thin fingers wrapping around Ren’s for a quick moment. He steps back into the room and carefully toes the office chair a few inches away from the desk, dragging a hand across the dusty keyboard.

“Who’s been giving out contracts?” Ren says, grabbing for his pocket and taking out his phone, waving it as he follows for no reason more than just to feel a little less out of depth. “A ghost?”

“I think,” Hux says, leaning downward with a low hum, “The computer.”

Ren finds himself watching with little comprehension as Hux begins typing in commands on the open window, seemingly feeling out the system with every next tap of the Enter key. Ren's been walking on eggshells around this organization for months, so of course Hux is going to immediately start fucking with it. “Why are you doing that?”

“Same reason I do anything,” Hux says, frowning at something on the screen, brow furrowed in that typical dismissive ‘ _don’t bother me, I’m working’_ focus that always seems to piss Ren off the quickest. He doesn’t seem any more forthcoming, fingers tapping away at the keyboard with intermittent mouse clicks here or there at the end of a line.

Ren rolls his eyes, ignoring an urge to shove Hux into the screen bay. “You’d get pissed if I said that.”

“There is roughly three million dollars in this… this _person’s_ courier drive,” Hux says, reaching sideways without looking and tapping at the tower on the desk. It’s a small, plain looking thing, giving no clue to what a courier drive is, “Would you like me to let it sit there, continually accruing into eternity, or would you like me to continue making it ours?”

Ren glances between Hux and the computer with a thick swallow, trying to come up with something scathing only to find himself completely empty. To say he's never hurt for money would be something of an understatement, but he's never had a million dollars in front of him, let alone three times that sitting just ripe and unprotected. “What are you going to do with it?”

“I don't know, Ren, buy another house?”

“I'm serious, asshole,” Ren says, feeling a foreboding sort of discomfort nestle up between his shoulder blades. “Are you taking the rest of it, too?”

Hux gives a short sigh, glancing sideways and reaching with a hand to hover over a stack of drives, a flickering frown crossing his lips. “I’m hesitant to.”

Ren watches him continue typing with little of his professed reluctance, “Really?”

“Don’t misunderstand – I’d like to, yes,” Hux says, reaching up and running a hand through his hair, shaking his head with a long exhale, “It’s just been running so long, and… I guess I might transfer the setup to one of our project assets without any one noticing the bookkeeping. Maybe Starkiller.”

“…The green energy project?” Ren guesses, recognizing the name, but pretty sure his memory is a few measures off.

“No,” Hux snaps, an offended frown crossing his lips. “Laser guns, you ass.”

Ren feels his brows raise so quick he worries he pulled a muscle; apparently, his memory is just fine. “That wasn’t a joke.”

“Hardly,” Hux says, glancing back down to the displays, tapping at the keys with an audible increase of irritated pressure. The keyboard absorbs the abuse until the mood culminates in an angry scoff, “It’s actually a terrific, turn of the _next_ century technology. It could turn the tide of war for the short time the human race has left.”

“Sure,” Ren says, almost positive that his tone is too condescending. It's not his fault he thought it was a joke – Hux has a habit of drinking and brainstorming actual science fiction.

“And you said it yourself: it’s all a fucking computer,” Hux snaps, glaring upward at such an angle that the screen casts an almost menacing shadow across his cheeks, “I’ll handle it.”

Ren sighs, glancing backward and already resigning to being forced to get rid of a body sometime in the very near future. Tonight even, in case someone decides to check out the house after they leave. “Whatever.”

Hux makes a frustrated noise, low and quiet, “Do you want to see what it has on you or not?”

“I already know I’m number one.” Ren shrugs with a single shoulder, trying not to get too distracted by the flood of text that appears when Hux types in a new command, just visible from here to include the term KYLO. He expected maybe a short description, but now he’s worrying that he was right about it knowing who he was; the contracting Kylo to kill Ren could’ve just been a computer error.

“You certainly rose quickly, didn’t you?” Hux says, giving a scoffing exhale and stepping back from the displays.

“I take contracts whenever you’re gone,” Ren says, reluctantly giving in and leaning down to glance through the details of his own profile, “And you are gone _a lot_.”

He feels a frown settle across his mouth as he reads further into the specifics of his past jobs, feeling almost uncomfortable at the detail. It’s so bizarre to see it all written out like this, even if over half of his contracts contain little more than declarations of having gotten the job done; the rest, full of little notes like location and method, must be from police reports.

“I don’t mean to be,” Hux says, though the soft, unsteady voice could have arguably been from the corpse for how unrecognizable it sounds.

Ren looks up, raising an eyebrow, only to feel his throat somehow paralyze, voice becoming little more than a silent breath when he opens his mouth to speak. He leans away from the desk, glancing across the inexplicably tense, even anxious, hands crossed defensively over Hux’s chest, mouth in a crooked, almost trembling frown, and realizes he may have missed something in the last few minutes.

“I _know_ , alright,” Hux says, his tone starchily clipped, if only for that as his breath speeds up into a practical rush of words, rising in pitch and stress both with barely a few seconds of pause, “I know that I’ve barely been home, that I can’t keep track of what day it is, that it’s as if I haven’t seen you in weeks… The fact you’ve been doing this for who knows how long, and _I didn’t catch on_ says enough, thank you.”

Ren blinks back in stunned silence, mind scurrying for a response and tempted to take a step forward, close the distance between them. He knows Hux is looking for some kind of a fight, but the tone of it is tempered with a distinctive anxiety that Ren is far more used to suffering than soothing.

“Whatever, you know I'm just as bad,” he mutters, forcing his hands to his sides and balling them up, “You can’t expect to be fucking omniscient.”

Hux rolls his eyes, lashes practically translucent against his cheeks when he doesn't look back up, “I kept waiting for you to ask to come back, you know. To work. At least now I know why you never seemed interested.”

Ren feels his face fall in disbelief, the shock of it aggravating his lingering unease into a minor panic; he convulsively swallows and tries to remember all those stupid exercises he was forced to learn in middle school. He will be rational; he will be calm; he will _not_ turn over this desk in attempt to dissuade his feelings, “I didn’t know that I – that you'd want me to.”

Hux looks shocked as he glances up, eyes going wide and mouth falling open, then practically growls in fury as he steps forward to dig a bony finger into Ren’s sternum. “Of course, you ass. Did you think I married you for taxes?”

Ren takes a short breath, wondering, and not quite caring, how untimely it would be to confess now almost two years on that he's not sure that _isn't_ the reason. It had been in Vegas, for one, and Phasma and alcohol had been involved, for another; it's all kind of a blur. He holds his breath for few moments longer, then settles on a small shrug, glancing sideways and deciding there's enough dead bodies in the room.

“Good lord,” Hux mutters, leaning back a few inches and pinching at the bridge of his nose. He remains silent for a few moments, then looks up through his hand, “You're saying none of this would have happened if I had just asked?”

“Probably,” Ren answers, knowing that much even if he can’t help but admit he doesn’t quite see a connection. “None of what – the Knights?”

Hux stares for another few moments, as if judging something evident only to him, until his shoulders fall, hand dropping back to his side with visible resignation. “Around the time I settled you weren’t coming back, after I started to notices the absences, I saw an article on some eviscerated lawyer.” A nervy glance to the side the only sign he’s realized the implication, brow furrowing with apparent irritation. “I didn’t just suddenly decide to contact these people – _your_ people – I put months of research into it for this.”

“For what?” Ren narrows his eyes, “To _replace_ me?”

“Obviously,” Hux says, exhaling heavily and almost petulant about it, lips folding up into a grimace. “Granted that was before I found out it was basically just –”

“Kylo will do it,” Ren interrupts, taking a sharp breath and shifting forward, closing the few inches of space between them and not-quite breathing against Hux’s lips, trying to use his usual methods against him. Ren’s starting to think the whole contract might have been a cruel test for both of them – of him, technically – raised by Hux’s overactive ideas of adultery. “He’s number one, remember? You won’t even have to pay him.”

Hux quirks a brow, staring staidly back for a few tense seconds, then leans in for an unhurried kiss. A tangible smirk is at his lips when he shifts back, “Okay, but no more third person.”

Ren feels heat burst at the back of his ears, “Right.”

“Also, darling,” Hux says, a thin hand pressing flatly to Ren’s chest, “Stop trying to seduce me in front of a corpse.”

“Shit,” Ren yelps, stepping back with a start and nearly upending the entire screen display.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just really wanted to get the whole tension thing... resolved, I guess. I might edit it later, or remove the entire thing. I'm not sure.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, yet another modern AU featuring a misunderstanding. I actually started this in like February? And the fic was originally completely different, but somewhere along the whole thing turned upside down. 
> 
> ALSO I have been watching A LOT of Archer, so... Well. I think it bled through.
> 
> (Oh, and his birthday is April Fools because his life is a joke.)
> 
> Tumblr: [Ezlebe](http://ezlebe.tumblr.com)


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